Harmony for Christmas (Dansboro Crossing #4)

Chapter 5

five

HARMONY

Staying perpetually upbeat is exhausting. I’m trying my best to make the best of an awkward situation. Being trapped in a house in the middle of nowhere with a man I don’t really know was never at the top of my Christmas wish list.

It’s hard because I can’t get a read on this man. One minute he’s growling at me, the next he’s cracking a joke. It’s enough to make my head spin.

Then there’s the fact that every time he turns that simmering gaze on me it feels like he can see everything. I’ve never felt more exposed, and his eyes rarely drop below my face.

I can feel them on me now as I study his mom’s old DVD collection. Do I bend over so I can see them better, thus waving my behind in his view, or do I continue to squint but stay ramrod straight? Oh, screw it.

“Hmm,” he hums behind me when I bend over. What does that mean?

“Oh hey, you have one of my favorite Christmas rom-coms,” I say before I can overanalyze the proportions of my ass and his response to said proportions. While You Were Sleeping .

I hold up the DVD when I turn around like it’s a trophy. Who am I kidding? It is a trophy. I’ve had a girl crush on Sandra Bullock for years now, and in my humble opinion, this is one of her best.

“Whatever,” he mumbles.

“Is that a yes whatever, please hook me up with a yummy movie featuring the all-time best man sandwich in history? Or whatever, as in I will literally cut my own eyes out if I have to watch a romance?” I mean, I can’t read man grunt.

“It means whatever, as in whatever you want to watch,” he answers. He smiles at me. I’ve noticed his smile is coming out a little more frequently now and, damn, if it doesn’t make me melt a little bit every time. Stupid, sexy cowboy.

“I’ll make a deal with you. We watch this first, then we can watch Die Hard , the other best Christmas movie ever. Wait, let me guess?—”

“Whatever,” we say in unison.

I shake my head and turn back to the ancient DVD player. With the movie in, I return to snuggle under the blanket on the couch. He clears his throat when I scooch next to him so he can share my blanket. The open credits begin, and I grab the bag of pretzels I found in his pantry.

“You agree Die Hard is a Christmas movie?” he asks quietly.

“If it has a Christmas tree in it, it’s a Christmas movie,” I answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him study me for a beat. Then with a barely perceptible nod, he turns back to the movie.

We watch the movie for the first half hour in silence. But I’d much rather talk to Beau.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Mmm,” he grunts. I’ll take that as permission to continue.

“Why Reacher?” I stroke the dog’s head. He hasn’t really left my side all afternoon.

“What do you mean?”

“Why that name when there are a lot of good dog names out there? He looks like a Bruno or a Duke, so why name him Reacher?”

“He’s big and blond. What else would I call him?”

“Okay, I get it now, I guess. What kind of dog is he?”

“I’d guess a mix of Great Dane and Lab. Travis dumped him here a couple of years ago. Claimed I was starting to talk to myself.”

“I don’t buy that,” I tease. “You don’t talk at all as far as I can tell, not even to yourself.”

“I talk,” he answers. From his tone, I would guess he’s a little hurt by my observation. Truth hurts.

“You grunt and growl. You do not talk.”

“So, I am Shrek then.”

“There you go comparing yourself to the sexiest ogre in the history of cinema again.” He tries to hide the smile that breaks across his face, but I see it plain as day. “What do you think, Reacher? Is he a closet conversationalist when no one is around?”

The dog barks in response.

“I didn’t think so.”

“Just watch the movie,” he says with exasperation. He can’t fool me, there’s still a hint of a smile on that handsome face. We sit in silence for another half hour.

“What are your thoughts on kissing?” I can’t stand it. It’s too easy to rile him up.

“What?” he says, sputtering.

“In movies. What are your thoughts on kissing in movies?”

“Jesus.” He runs a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know. It’s fine, I guess.” I let him settle back into the movie just long enough to drop his guard again.

“And sex?” I ask off-handedly.

“Harmony,” he growls in warning.

“Am I flirting again?” I bat my eyelashes at him innocently. He scowls back with one eyebrow cocked.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’re driving me crazy.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“I’m making some tea,” he says, pushing off the couch. He turns to face me. “Would you like any?”

I have two ways I can answer this. Right now, I’m thinking I should probably look away from the bulge in his pants that hits me at eye level. Mouth level really. Would I like some of what he’s hiding in those jeans? Yes, please. Do I want some tea? Whatever. Can I convince him to wrap a bow around that thing and call it my Christmas present?

“You’re not helping,” he growls again. My gaze drifts up to meet his stormy one.

“Yes?”

“How would you like it?”

“Excuse me?” He has to know what he’s doing, right? I mean, this is too easy.

“Do you want it plain, with something in it, over ice? I can probably find one of those old peppermint sticks if you want.”

“However you want to give it to me is fine.” I can actually feel my face heating.

Beau shakes his head as he walks into the kitchen. If I had said the same thing to Travis, it would have been an innocent conversation. Everything with Beau feels sexually charged. If the weather doesn’t break soon, I should be able to melt the snow with my oversexed mind.

“I’m giving it to you hot and steamy,” he says, setting a hot cup of tea on the coffee table several minutes later.

“Now I know you’re flirting with me.”

“Seems a little aggressive for flirting,” he points out. “You should probably slap me into next week.”

“Ooh, foreplay.” An unexpected laugh bursts from Beau. It makes me laugh with him.

“You’re a mess.” He picks up another DVD and waves it at me. “ Die Hard ?”

“Yippee-ki-yay, Mother?—”

“Harmony Ellis,” he admonishes. “And here I thought you were a good girl.” He winks, and if I was standing, my knees would have buckled. A wink, a smile, and a smart-ass remark? Who is this and what happened to the grouch I started with this morning?

“Define good.”

He shakes his head again before popping the movie into the old player. I hear him mumble something under his breath, but I can’t quite catch it.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I ask. He stands back up to his full height and turns slowly to face me. His gaze is intense as it meets mine. My breath hitches at the severity.

“I said,” he says just loud enough for me to have to lean toward him to hear. “You might need to be put over my knee.” Before I can even process how fun that could be, he walks into the kitchen.

“Hey, you’re going to miss the beginning,” I yell. “And that’s not all,” I mumble under my breath this time. “Lord, Harmony. He might have just melted all of your girly parts into a puddle.”

“Girly parts?” He’s standing in the door of the kitchen holding a bag of chips. There’s a knowing smile on his face.

“Like, uhh,” I stammer, trying hard to come up with anything other than my nether regions I could have been referring to.

“I know what girly parts are,” he answers, the smile turning into a shit-eating grin.

“I’m sure you do.”

“Chips?” He offers me the bag, and I snatch it from his hands. Digging a massive fistful out, I cram them all in my mouth at the same time. Now maybe nothing stupid can come out of my mouth.

He’s still watching me, but his face has morphed into something more like concern. I’m sure he’s preparing to Heimlich chips from my windpipe at any moment.

“I brought you a beer too,” he says.

“Mmm,” is all I manage to get out.

Then, the worst thing I can think of begins to happen. It starts with a tickle in the back of my throat before progressing into my nose. I chew faster so I can swallow before the inevitable happens.

“Aaa-chooo.”

I spray half-masticated chips all over the living room. My first thought is, how did I get all of those in my mouth? Then I’m faced with the fact that I just shot spit all over the coffee table of the one person I should be trying to impress so I don’t get kicked out into the blizzard.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” I say, turning to face him. “I’ll clean that up. Reacher!”

The dog has sprung into action. He hoovers up the chips like he’s finally found his mission in life. I dive to the ground to try and hold him back.

“Beau, help me.”

He doesn’t answer; he’s too busy laughing. Not just a chuckle either. One of those deep in the belly, head thrown back, full body laughs. He’s laughing so hard his eyes have started to water. Okay, it is sort of funny. Before I know it, I’m laughing just as hard. I turn loose of Reacher and collapse on the floor.

“Are you okay?” he asks around a burst of laughter. “You really are bad at flirting.”

“Hey!” Yeah, I have to agree with him. One sexy spanking reference and I turn into a chip cannibal.

“You’ve sealed your fate as Reacher’s favorite now,” he adds. I place my hands over my already red face. How is it possible for it to grow even hotter? “Come on,” he says, thumping the couch next to him. “Let’s finish the movie.”

I crawl over to the couch and slide onto the end. He teasingly moves the bag of chips to the other side of him. I shoot him a glare and punch him on the arm.

Before I realize it, we’re sitting together with the blanket pulled over our legs. Reacher curls up next to me with his head on my leg. My life hasn’t been this easy for a long time. That’s how being with Beau feels. Easy.

We watch the movie in companionable silence until it ends. I’m in favor of moving to the next one, but Beau switches the input over to catch the news. The weather forecast is calling for even more snow as the temperatures continue to plummet. It even threatens of adding an ice storm on top of it. He’ll be stuck with me forever at this point.

“I’m going to have to check hay and water tomorrow,” he mutters.

“What can I do to help?”

“I’ll have to take the tractor.”

“I can help anyway. I promise I’m not totally useless.”

“Who said you were useless?” he snarls. His scowl has me shrinking back against the couch. Reacher growls deep in his throat.

“I just—” I’m not sure what to say. Most of the time, I’m treated like the only thing I’m good for is dressing up and entertaining a crowd. My assistant even arranged for a caterer once when I had my family for Thanksgiving. I promise I can cook a turkey without assistance.

“We’ll check on the neighbors in the morning,” Beau says finally. His brow smooths back out which makes me relax again. “Then after lunch, we’ll check around here.” He nods and stands. “I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks to the back bedroom.

“Okay, then, Reacher.” I turn off the television and take the remains of our snacks to the kitchen. After checking the front door is locked, I turn around to find Beau standing behind me.

“I was coming back to do that.”

“Oh. Sorry.” We stand perfectly still, staring at each other. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do next. I didn’t realize I was breaking some sort of man rule by checking the door. Then he takes a step toward me. It’s followed by another, and suddenly he’s pressed against me.

His hand cups the back of my neck as his lips meet mine. They’re warm and firm and, heaven help me, the best thing I’ve tasted ever. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth with a moan.

I’m not sure which of us made the noise, but I don’t care. I just know I hope this never ends. I’ve never been kissed like I’m the very oxygen someone needs to survive, but that’s exactly what it feels like.

It’s over too soon sadly. Beau presses his forehead against mine as his chest heaves against me.

“Jesus,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry.” He stands straight and takes a step back.

I feel his gaze burn down my body and back up. He shakes his head. “Fuck.” Before I can say, “yes, please,” he’s stomping back down the hallway.

“Wow,” I whisper, touching my lips. Now how am I supposed to get to sleep knowing he’s right down the hallway from me. “Come on, Reacher.”

The dog happily follows me as I head to my bedroom. He might as well join me. Lord knows I’m not getting any sleep tonight.